Reality is a Bitter Pill to Swallow
by HouseWife
Summary: House awakens from a drug-induced coma to find that reality may not be what it seems. Huddy centered. House, Cuddy, Wilson. Takes place after Bombshells.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters In this story! They belong to Fox and House, M.D.

House awoke with the worst amount of pain he had ever felt in his life. It was like someone had ripped out his heart and sawed off his leg all at once. The room swam in front of his eyes and it took him a moment to figure out that he was lying in a hospital bed. Cuddy was seated beside him, her head leaning forward and very much asleep.

He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes. He let out a deep groan. _Jesus, what have they done to me?_

"House?" His eyes snapped open. Cuddy was awake and looking a little groggy. Concern flitted across her face. Something about her was different, but he wasn't quite lucid enough to place it. "How are you feeling?"

He blinked a few times, trying to come up with the right words. How could he tell her that he felt terrible for ruining their relationship, hurt because she had lost all faith in him, and that he was also in agonizing physical pain because his leg felt like it was on fire?

"Like shit. What the hell am I doing in the hospital?" He could tell he sounded annoyed, and made a note to dial down the sarcasm. After all, the last time he could recall speaking to her was when she stood in the doorway and told him that he couldn't be the man for her because he was an addict who only loved himself. A fact he had proven over and over again.

Cuddy hesitated before answering. "You overdosed on Vicodin." Her expression hardened; all the concern going out of her face. She looked guarded, like she wanted to tell him off but couldn't. Suddenly, House was able to place what was different about her.

Her hair was pulled up off of her neck in an up-do usually reserved for high school girls about to be harassed by over eager, pimply faced prom dates. Her makeup was different than usual. She looked much too made-up for just about _anything_ in her normal range of activities.

Cuddy rose from her chair and walked to the edge of the bed. House sensed her need to put distance between them. As he watched her cross the room, he took in her clothing. She was wearing a faded pair of jeans and a plain blue t-shirt.

_Why is she made-up so pretty but dressed so shitty?_

House searched his head for any more clues. Nothing. The only thing he could remember was her standing in the doorway as he begged her not to end it.

"What was the point?" she finally asked.

"What?"

"What happened? You were doing great. Why did you go back on Vicodin, House?" It wasn't really a question. She knew why he couldn't stop.

He remained silent. He was an addict. That's all he felt like he could say.

"I was scared," he told her as he had before. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "I…I thought I was going to lose you. It was stupid. I'm an idiot."

Confusion played on her face. As she opened her mouth to respond, the door slid open and Wilson came in. He looked disheveled and even more tired than she did. House took in his appearance. Wilson was dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white long sleeve button up. It looked almost as if he had been wearing a tux.

"Oh, good, you're awake. I just talked to Foreman. They're going to keep you overnight to watch for any effects from the Narcan and then send you home tomorrow." Wilson had turned on his Doctor mode. He turned to Cuddy. "Lucas is looking for you." Wilson looked as if he were angry with Cuddy.

Without a word, Cuddy locked eyes with Wilson and left the room. Now House was extremely confused, she almost looked like she was shouldering some unbearable load of guilt.

"What the hell is going on with everybody around here?" House questioned.

"Good question. Why did I come home and find you lying on the floor in the bathroom with an empty pill bottle next to you? Are you just trying to get attention, House? You can't stand for her to be happy – for _anyone_ to be happy because you're not!"

An image flashed through his mind. He was sitting propped against the bath tub, contemplating death. He popped the lid of the orange bottle and tossed two Vicodin into his mouth. Still, the pain wouldn't stop. The ache in his heart wouldn't ease. He popped two more. Then, what, five minutes later probably another two or three. If he couldn't close the hole in his heart maybe he could forget about it.

"All I want is for her to be happy, but I want to do that for her, Wilson, and I can't. I thought I could do better but we both know I can't."

Wilson plopped down in the seat where Cuddy had been. They were quiet for a long time. Finally House asked, "How long was I out?"

"About seventeen hours. We reversed the respiratory depression with Narcan, but it took forever for you to wake up. I knew I should have stayed with you tonight. I had a feeling you would do something stupid."

Wilson knew? Cuddy must have called him on the way over and told him she was going to end it with House. Wilson knew before it happened and he didn't even warn him. Well, in his own way he did. He kept telling House 'not to screw it up'.

"Listen, House, I know it's hard on you. As soon as she said she was going to marry Lucas I noticed you starting to drift back into old-House. You were-"

"Wait, what? Marry Lucas? We've been split up for less than a day!" House roared.

Confusion crossed Wilson's face. "Um… you and Cuddy?"

"Yes, moron, who did you think I meant? Masters?"

Now Wilson looked REALLY confused. "Masters?"

Was he being stupid on purpose? "You know. Short. Annoying. White, female version of Foreman. Has an idiotic belief that the world is made of sunshine and lollipops."

"House, are you having delusions again? How long have you been back on drugs?" Why was Wilson being such an ass?

"No, damn it, I'm not delusional. I started taking Vicodin when Cuddy was having her testing done. I thought my girlfriend was going to die."

Wilson stared at House for a long time. "Sooo…Cuddy was sick. Cuddy was your girlfriend and she was sick. House, I don't know how to tell you this." Wilson cleared his throat. His eyes settled on the floor. "Cuddy and Lucas were engaged for months. You took all those pills about an hour before their wedding. I came back to the condo for my phone and found you barely breathing in the bathroom."

"No, I overdosed the Vicodin because she found out I was back on it and dumped me. What are you saying Wilson? That I imagined us all over again?"

Wilson just stared. House wanted to choke him.

"Don't you remember when we thought Rachel swallowed that dime and had to sneak her in to do an ultrasound?"

"House, that never happened."

"You don't remember me drugging you and Cuddy's mom at dinner?" House asked. He needed Wilson to remember.

"No…it's not real, House. I think you need to go back –"

"Wilson, she told me she loved me the night I lost my patient in that collapsing building. She came to my house and told me…Wilson…"

House was choking on his own words now. He didn't want to lose this. He couldn't stand the thought that the happiest moments in his life were a product of Vicodin.

"You need to go back for more help. I'll take you as soon as they discharge you. You've got to get off the Vicodin, House…or you'll have nothing left. Not a single thing."

Wilson stood up and crossed to the door. "I'll tell Foreman you're up. He'll want to have a look at you. Chase, Taub, and Thirteen have been asking about you too."

Wilson exited the room, his face looking like he was trying not to cry. House knew the feeling. His heart felt like it was in a vice. His eyes and throat burned. He wanted the hurt to stop. He wanted the pain to go away and that wonderful flood of memories to wash back over him.

Maybe they were fake. Hell, he'd take it. If he couldn't really have Cuddy, he knew how he could almost have her. There was one truth he knew - he wasn't going back to rehab. He needed to get more Vicodin.


	2. Chapter 2

His arms snaked around her waist. He pressed his nose into her curly, black hair and inhaled deeply. For a moment he recognized the scent of Pantene and then it was gone. House lay on Wilson's couch. He had almost found the perfect level of high. For weeks he'd been popping Vicodin after Vicodin, trying desperately to regain the memories of him and Cuddy. It took forever to find the perfect amount, mostly because he was living with Wilson who had this annoying habit of being home.

Tonight, however, Wilson was out on a date. The second Wilson was out the door House retrieved the orange bottle from his secret hiding place – underneath Wilson's bed.

House wasn't sure what to believe. He wanted to think that he was dreaming now; that everyone was crazy and he was in some strange alternate universe. He'd spent all week trying to prove that what he felt for Cuddy was real. He used several tricks to try and make Wilson crazy. If he cracked and did something uncharacteristically Wilson, like actually stand up to House, then surely it was a dream. House left dirty dishes everywhere, brought hookers in and out of the condo, and stayed up playing his guitar until 3 am. He considered putting Wilson's diabetic cat, Sara, into the dryer until he remembered there _was no_ cat. At least not in this reality.

Instead, Wilson ignored House's antics completely. He was being the 'Good-Friend-Trying-to-Understand-His-Best-Friend's-Situation'. Typical Wilson…House would have to figure out another way to get back to his real life.

_I'm sorry, House._

_Please, please don't do this. I can do better._

_I don't think you can._

He hadn't had a chance to get near Cuddy. She'd suspended him for a month, for his "health". Right. Everyone knew better. She'd suspended him because she was uncomfortable being around him after her wedding caused him to overdose.

Now, House was stuck trying to decipher dreams from reality. On the one hand, he could just continue to live like this existence wasn't real. He could spend his days high on pills and his nights bent on booze. But what if he was wrong? What if this bullshit excuse for existence was his life? He was alone. No Cuddy. No happiness. At least there was one upside…Cuddy still hadn't married Lucas. The wedding was on hold until farther notice. He might have a chance to win her, and if he couldn't succeed in this life – he knew where he could go to have her.

"You do realize what this is doing to him, don't you?" Wilson was busy pacing the floor in Cuddy's office. She was seated behind her desk, busily rifling through desk drawers, trying not to listen to Wilson's rant.

"Yes, and I also know what it's doing to the hospital, but I can't let him come back yet." The hospital had had to refer their unsolvable cases to other departments in the hospital. Their success rates weren't very good. Foreman, Thirteen, Taub, and Chase were up to their eyeballs in work.

"Every time I leave the condo he's in there getting stoned. I have to pretend I don't know that his secret stash is under my bed."

"Why would he put it under your bed?"

Wilson shrugged. "He thinks it's the last place I would look. You know addicts - they think they're smarter than everyone else…and he just happens to be." Wilson sank into a chair. "Cuddy you have to get him back in here. The only chance he's got now is to work. He refuses to go back to Mayfield."

Cuddy stared at him intently. The last thing she wanted was to see him. It was bad enough that he'd pulled that stunt to ruin her wedding, but he also had been having detailed hallucinations of several months' worth of a relationship that didn't exist.

"When are you getting married?"

The question startled her. "Um, I don't know. Why?"

"Good. Just…don't for awhile, okay? Believe me, he won't take it well." Wilson stood up and headed for her office door.

"Wait," she called out softly. She chewed on her bottom lip, an internal conflict playing on her face. Finally she said, "Tell him to be back on Monday."

Wilson closed her door behind him. He knew he shouldn't be mad at Cuddy but he couldn't help it. He was pissed off at both of them. She was wasting her time marrying a man they _both_ knew she wasn't in love with. Meanwhile, his best friend was single handedly destroying his life.

Some days he wished he had been on that bus with Amber.

Dr. House entered the main doors of Princeton Plainsboro at a slow pace. His leg burned as he crossed the tile floor and headed towards the reception desk. Cuddy was standing with her back to him. She leaned against the desk looking over some patient's file. He couldn't help but admire the way her gray skirt clung to her ass. It kind of thrilled him, knowing exactly what she looked like under that skirt – and her not believing it.

"Morning, Love Muffin." House leaned in toward Cuddy's face. "You smell divine. Have you been using my body wash again?"

"Doctor House…back to your charming self, I presume?" She stepped away from him, her eyes shifting uncomfortably to the floor.

"You mean drug free?" He said loudly.

"Shhh!" Cuddy grabbed him by the bicep and steered him into a vacant break room. "You can't scream across the hospital that you're on drugs. What will patients think?"

House smiled mischievously. "Ah, you mean investors? Relax. They'll never believe I'm a _real _doctor. I'm not even wearing a white coat."

"Listen, House. I don't want to speak to you unless it's relevant to a case. Got that? I didn't bring you back so you could make my life hell. Patients need you. The hospital needs you."

"Which means that _you _need me. Don't worry, Cuddy, I'm not here to ruin your pretend relationship with Inspector Gadget. I just thought you could use a good doctor when your mom needs a new hip replacement."

Cuddy stood in the middle of the room feeling dumbstruck. Why would he know her mom had a hip replacement?

"So, boys and promiscuous member of the opposite sex, what do we have today?"

Thirteen ignored House's insult. "Twenty-five year old white male. Presented to the ER with a severe sore throat, dysphagia, and a fever."

"Sounds like almost any infection. Could be the flu? Strept throat?" Taub offered.

"That's what they thought until the nurse noticed he was having bloody diarrhea and his respiration rate was 8," finished Thirteen.

"Do an EGD and a colonoscopy. Find the source of the bleed," Foreman ordered. The fellows began to rise out of their chairs.

"What is this, affirmative action? I'm in charge here, not Foreman." House looked around the room. God, one near death overdose and suddenly Foreman was the genius? This must be a dream. House racked his brain and couldn't come up with anything to challenge Foreman's idea. "Do the EGD and the colonoscopy…"

His team exited the office and House sank into his chair. It wasn't like him to not have an idea. Something was wrong…He slid his desk drawer open; fishing blindly for the little envelope he'd hidden in his desk long before he had even given up Vicodin. Finally, House found it. After ripping open the seal he dumped three pills into his hand. He tipped his head back and the slid down his throat easily.

_He could taste her on his lips. She had just told him she loved him even though she didn't want to. She'd broken off her engagement and here stood in front of him – raw and completely his._

"You don't think this is real do you?" House's head snapped up. Lucas stood in front of his desk. He looked tired and frustrated. "You don't think she really loves me."

House leaned back in his chair, placing his feet on the desk. "No, I don't and judging by the way you're standing in front of me looking like a lost puppy, I don't think you believe it either."

"Why can't you just leave it alone, House? You're a sarcastic drug addict with an in ability to show up for the real world. You're no good for her. She knows that. Everyone does."

"Oh, because you're so much better. You have fewer real relationships than I do. At least I don't connect with strangers I'll never know by peeping through their windows and tapping their phones." House smirked. "Face it, Lucas, you're even farther from 'the real world' than I am."

"You lost her, House. You were so close – cleaning up your life. But you ruined it when you couldn't accept reality. You ruined any chance you had by almost dying because of your drug habit."

"That's not what happened…I lost control…I thought she was going to die," House muttered quietly. A confused expression crossed Lucas' face. Damn it! What was he thinking saying that out loud? Even if this was a dream, he couldn't afford to spend it locked up in the psych ward. He had to figure out some way to get back to his real life.

The confused look on Lucas's face was slowly changing to satisfaction. "You're still on drugs, aren't you, House? I can't believe…you _still _think that was real. There never was a "you and Lisa"! She's going to marry me…and nothing you do can change that."

Lucas left House's office with a spring in his step. The Vicodin was really starting to kick in. He could feel the pain in his leg was nearly gone. The haze was settling over him. He was so close to being back to Cuddy…

Then a familiar voice rang out. "Come on, House. You can figure this out. We can do this. We made a great team in the past."

Oh, shit.

He opened his eyes again. Sitting on the corner of his desk was none other than Wilson's dead girlfriend. She smirked at him, an evil glint in her eyes. "Now you really don't know what to believe do you?"


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Thanks so much for the great reviews! Sorry this update took so long. School is super busy right now! I wanted to make sure I took time to write this so that it did the entire story justice and didn't rush just for the sake of getting it posted. For those of you wondering, this is not a House/Wilson fic or a Wilson/Cuddy fic. I am considering writing a Wilson/Cuddy eventually just because House is being such a jerk to her, LOL.

House trudged through the snow, which was even more difficult for him than it would be for someone without a limp. His leg ached from the cold. He reached into his pocket and retrieved an orange pill bottle. He expertly popped the lid off the bottle, titled his head back, and tossed a Vicodin down his throat.

"Going public, are we?" House didn't even pause for the voice behind him. He knew Wilson would catch up eventually.

"Yeah, we thought it was time we let the world know about our love." House replied gruffly. He slipped the pill bottle back into his coat. There was no point in hiding it anymore. This was just a dream, which meant he would wake up eventually. "We thought about running off to Vegas but apparently there are laws against our kind of love. Hypocrites."

"I've known for weeks, House", Wilson said glumly.

"I'm not surprised. You're like a bloodhound at Warden Cuddy's hip. If you're a really good boy she might let you out of your cage. There has to be some desperate bitch in heat around here. And by desperate bitch in heat I mean -" They were about ten feet from the hospital doors when House felt Wilson's hand on his shoulder. He dropped the metaphor and turned to face him.

"House, you almost died because of this. Why won't you stop? Let me take you back to Mayfield." Wilson gave him a pleading look. House averted his eyes to the snow.

"Why should I stop?"

Wilson stared at him dumbfounded. "Were you not present the day that they talked about drug overdose in med school?"

"Seriously. There's no reason for me to stop." House dragged his toe across the wet ground. "None of this is real."

Wilson's brow furrowed. "None of this is real as in the Easter bunny or as in the medical minds who determine what drugs will kill you?"

"Big floppy ears and a basket with eggs the size of Cuddy's fun bags." House gave a slight smirk at his own cleverness. "I'm saying that none of this is real. I'm dreaming."

Wilson made an exasperated sigh. "What logic could you have possibly based that on? The fact that I'm standing here having a conversation with you in twenty degree weather?"

"I have my reasons." House turned and limped towards the doors.

"House!"

He thought it would be wrong to tell Wilson that Amber was walking each stride with them.

Despite the music pouring out of his piano, he couldn't drown out the sound of her voice. The little spurts of reality that he called upon were no longer what he wanted. Her scent, her kiss, her touch; none of these were the memories coming to mind. All he could hear was her rejection. The disappointment in her voice was as clear as day.

He knew that there was no truth to this life. The images of he and Cuddy burned too brightly in his mind to be fiction.

"So, you've decided not to believe any of this?" Amber shared the bench with him. She dragged her fingers across the piano keys lazily. "Have you figured out how to wake up?"

"Yes."

"And?"

The corner of his mouth turned upward. Almost a smile. "You already know."

"It's not going to work like you think it will." Amber stood up from the piano and crossed the room. She turned and stared out the window.

"You don't know that. You're just a delusion." He tickled the keys. High pitched music filled the air. He knew how to get rid of Amber. He knew how to return to his real life and get Cuddy back. "Why is it that when I'm hallucinating it's always you? Why not Kutner or Marilyn Monroe?"

Amber turned away from the window and gave him a dark smile. She looked like the cat that ate the canary – feather sticking out of her teeth and all. "If this is a dream then why are you seeing me? Wouldn't you be pain free, drug free, and with Cuddy?"

"Haven't you ever had a nightmare?" House reached for the decanter and poured himself a drink.

"Delusions don't have nightmares," Amber quipped. "You see me because I am most like you. You're brain wouldn't conjure up someone like Kutner to act as your subconscious. He was weak. Couldn't handle the pain. That's why he's dead."

He took a sip of his drink. "Cuddy thinks I'm weak. She says I run away from pain."

"Cuddy is an idiot. You've found a way to live with pain, not die from it. Your method keeps you happy, which keeps Cuddy happy."

House snorted. "If you were a delusion worth having you'd know I'm not happy. I'm miserable. I need Cuddy…but I want Vicodin." House poured another glass. "Vicodin can't love me, but it doesn't judge me either."

A loud knock rang across the room. "House! Open the door." It was Cuddy. He pushed the bench away from the piano and limped across the wood floor. She looked like she had come straight from the hospital, dressed in a black, high waisted pencil skirt and a cornflower blue blouse.

"You're still on Vicodin."

"You're still in a fake relationship," House said sarcastically. Cuddy rolled her eyes. "Oh, I thought we were playing that game 'State the Obvious'."

"Why are you still doing drugs?"

"How did you find out? Did Lucas tell you?" House scanned Cuddy's confused expression.

She attempted a quick recovery, letting a blank look fall across her features. "I'm not an idiot. I can tell."

"No, Lucas didn't tell you. Then Wilson must have. Interesting."

"It's interesting that your best friend wanted your boss to know that you're on drugs while practicing medicine?" Cuddy asked indignantly.

"It's interesting that your fiancée knew and you had to hear it from Wilson. Means he wanted you to find out the hard way, ruining any chance I had with you." House turned from the door and limped back to the piano to pour another drink.

Cuddy laughed incredulously and closed the door behind her. "What chance? We're getting married. House, you need to get treatment. Wilson told me what you said…" Cuddy let unspoken words hang in the air. Finally, she asked "You don't think this is real? That we're standing here having an actual conversation?"

He took a swig of his drink. "I don't."

Cuddy took a tentative step forward. House admired the way her black hair shone against her dark complexion. Most of the time she was the intelligent, confident, beautiful dean of medicine he had come to love. Now she stood before him looking like a stray puppy, unsure of whether she should follow him home or not.

"So what are you going to do about it?"

"Like any other theory, I have to test it."

"This isn't a case or a puzzle, House. This is real life!"

"So says the figment of my imagination."

Cuddy sighed impatiently. "This is _real. _This…is…your…life! You're a drug addict who can't find happiness in anything you do. The only fulfillment you get is from solving the mysteries of modern medicine. You're not dreaming, you're just high."

"Whoa, harsh, duuude. The _real _Cuddy wouldn't be so mean."

Cuddy rolled her eyes impatiently. "You know that's not true. House, you can't treat this like a diagnosis. There is no test for this."

She was standing so close to him now that he could feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise up. Her lips were full and slightly parted. Her big blue eyes landed on his. House breathed in sharply. The wonderful, familiar feeling came flooding back to him. Without conscious thought he leaned forward, crushing his body against hers. Their lips met, and his stomach dropped. He felt like he was riding a rollercoaster, the long plummet down terrifying and thrilling. Cuddy pressed herself tight against him. The sensation of her tongue melting with his sent a shock to his nervous system.

He pushed her backwards and they hit the wall with a hard thump. Cuddy's hands ran through his hair and down his back. Her touch provoked a wonderful feeling. House paused only to shrug off his gray and white Fender T and began prying at the buttons on her top. Cuddy's blouse fell to the floor. His blue eyes traveled up her stomach, over her black bra, and to her face. Their eyes met, and he could feel a burning sensation deep within. His ears buzzed, his vision blurred slightly.

A noise suddenly caught his attention. It seemed to becoming from somewhere distant. Maybe out in the street? He tried to ignore it.

"N…no…"

In an instant, the burning sensation was extinguished. He finally identified the noise. The distant sound was Cuddy protesting.

"No, House… can't. I'm engaged to Lucas." Her eyes dropped to the floor. She looked ashamed. It was selfish, but he wanted her to be ashamed for refusing him – not for nearly cheating on her soon-to-be husband.

"You can't tell me that you feel nothing…that this was nothing. Lisa?"

At the sound of her name, her eyes snapped to his. She nodded resolutely. "There is no 'us'. I'm sorry." Cuddy reached down, scooping her wrinkled blouse off of the floor. He watched as she buttoned it back up and turned towards the door. When she got there, he made one last, desperate attempt.

"Don't go. I love you."

Time stood still. It seemed an eternity before she answered, "I know." Cuddy pulled the door open and left him standing in the middle of the room. He was alone – except for Amber.

Six hours after the sound of the door shutting behind Cuddy, House sought comfort from the cool bathroom tile once more. He was drunk and more than sufficiently stoned. Cuddy's rejection led him to one conclusion: now was the time to do it. He had to wake up from this nightmare and find happiness once more.

"You think now is the best time to make this decision?" Amber was standing over him, holding a bottle of Vicodin in her hand. "Listen to me, House – I'm the rational part of your brain."

He lifted his head off the floor for a brief second, grunted, and laid it back down. "I know how to fix this." House reached his hand up towards her. Amber continued to stare down at him. "Listen, Cut throat Bitch, you didn't give a damn about me when you were alive, so why do you care as a delusion? It's not like you're some female version of Wilson. That's what I have Cameron for."

"I don't care. I'm just the part of you that knows better. It's simple logic."

House made a tsking noise. "Since when have I listened to rationality? Hand me the Vicodin!"

Amber crouched down, coming nose to nose with him. "No. This won't work."

"Well there's the alternative…I got rid of you last time by getting clean." He waited for Amber to object and force the bottle into his hand, as she had done before. Instead, she just smirked.

"So you think I'm a drug-induced hallucination instead of a dream?"

"At this point, I don't care." House reached out and snatched the bottle from her hand. He fumbled with the lid, his senses severely dulled by the opioids. His breath came in shallow waves. He peered into the bottle, estimating how many pills were left. Then, he threw his head back, tipping the pills into his mouth. Bitterness greeted his tongue but he chewed through the taste. He swallowed jagged shards of the tablets and waited.

Sunshine poured through the window, giving the appearance of a happy day. The snow outside was finally melting, leaving the streets full of dirty slush. Wilson stood at the foot of the bed, staring as his closest friend laid there unresponsive. The monitors beeped, machines whirred, and pink clad nurses wandered wordlessly in and out of the room. No one really knew what to say to James Wilson.

House had been lying in the bed for three weeks, once again due to a drug-induced coma. When he didn't show up at Princeton Plainsboro for work the next day or answer any calls, Wilson went over to his house immediately. It was a miracle that he was still alive. He had been lying there for hours, barely accumulating enough oxygen to fuel his brain.

The door to the room slid open and Wilson turned to see Cuddy enter the room. She had dark circles under her eyes, and a pale, gaunt appearance. Without a word to Wilson, she immediately began assessing House for any signs of consciousness.

Wilson had to look away. He knew it was a lost cause. He had already lost Amber too soon; there was no way that the universe would allow House to come back to them. Still, Cuddy hoped. "Anything?" she asked. He shook his head.

"You're going to have to make the decision soon, you know. He made you his healthcare proxy," Wilson said bitterly.

Cuddy gave him a hard look. "I'm not giving up. He made me his proxy because he knew I would fight for him."

"No, he made you his proxy because he trusted you to make the best decision. You think he would want to just lay here, hooked up to machines?"

Cuddy shrugged. She didn't really know what House would want anymore. Sure, he made some risky, stupid decisions before, but she never expected something like this. It was difficult for her to stomach the hospital without him coming into her office and harassing her on a daily basis. There was no one left to challenge her, no one who would stand up to her when she was wrong. Cuddy had broken it off with Lucas a week ago. She was forced to accept the fact that she would never have been able to love Lucas like she loved House.

"Cuddy," Wilson interrupted her thoughts. "If you won't make the decision, then I will."

"Are you going to take me to court? Organize a meeting with the ethics committee?"

Wilson sighed. "If that's what it takes." He took a final look at House, steeled his face, and left the room.

Cuddy turned back to House and her mouth dropped open. His hand clenched and unclenched. A small smile played across his lips. He looked…content. She smiled, tears forming in her eyes. She reached out and stroked his hand. He grunted and then his hand closed around hers.

_House rolled over to find a beautiful woman next to him. Her dark, curly hair smelled like Pantene. She opened her eyes, a smile quickly forming on her face. He smiled back, reveling in the warmth radiating from her body. _

_Cuddy reached out, stroking his face with her left hand. He kissed the back of her hand, her palm, and then each of her fingers. The diamond solitaire sparkled in the sunlight flowing through the curtains. He could clearly remember the day of their wedding, how her face lit up as she walked down the aisle toward him; the way her mother stared ahead unhappily; the whispers of Foreman,Masters, and Taub taking bets on how long it would last._

_He knew that this had to be a dream…and he was just fine with that. Reality was for self-assured losers anyway._

THE END

A/N: I didn't feel it was realistic to pair them together in real life, because House is so maladjusted and Cuddy needs a stable man in her life. Still, l wanted House to get Cuddy. His perception of reality is so warped, it just made sense to let them be together in a world all their own. I hope you enjoyed and I didn't let too many people down! Thanks for reading


End file.
